


The Athlete & The Criminal

by damnfancyscotch



Series: Tumblr Nonsense [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Badboy!Derek, Based on a Tumblr Post, Breakfast Club AU, Complete, Declarations of Intent, Hand Job, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, jock!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re you doing here, Stilinski? Did you only score half the winning points at the last lacrosse game instead of all of them?”</p><p>Stiles snorts and says, “I thought you were locked up, Hale.”</p><p>Derek huffs a laugh and drawls, “Not quite yet.”</p><p>or</p><p>A Breakfast Club AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halelujah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halelujah/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A High School Cliché.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250075) by [halelujah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halelujah/pseuds/halelujah). 



> [based on [this](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com/post/96218293869/i-have-a-mighty-need-for-a-sterek-breakfast-club) tumblr post and also the other story - I hope you like it, Keeta.]
> 
> Look babbies! Another story! I'm posting this bc I'm about to have a ton of work to do and I won't be able to write much for the next month. :(((
> 
> So, I took the prompt and added to it a little bit (okay a lot) bc I just can't stop at a basic drabble, apparently. *sigh* This is my life!
> 
> I hope you like iiitttt!

The library at Beacon Hills High School is remarkably large for such a small high school. It’s got two balconies and overstuffed arm chairs in clusters and some decent – if a bit dated – computers. Overall, it’s a nice place to study or to socialize in between classes during the week.

Friday afternoons, though… on Friday afternoons, detention is held in the library rather than a classroom.

Derek is stuck sitting at the ugly, uncomfortable tables in the middle of the room, not allowed to settle into one of the soft chairs or even piddle around on one of the computers. Oh, no. He has to be glaringly uncomfortable while he serves detention assigned by Mr. Harris.  _Fucking dick_.

He maybe shouldn't really be complaining, since, after all, the week of detention he's had to serve was assigned in lieu of being arrested for yet another petty crime. But, it's Friday now, and he's _so fucking bored_.

He’s seated away from the library windows that look out into the halls so he can’t even glare menacingly at people the way he likes to, waiting for them to get nervous or irritated. He loves to unnerve people. His phone is almost dead so fucking around on the internet or playing music is a no-go. Hell, he'd even contemplated doing homework, but he's so far behind it's almost moot at this point.

So, Derek pillows his head on his crossed arms, trying to catch a nap. He’s almost asleep, on the edge of slipping under, when he hears the sound of the library door opening, a burst of excited chatter and the shuffling of people coming from the hall. Derek suspects it’s Harris checking in so he doesn’t bother to move from his position.

The sound of the door closing cuts the sounds off and the hush is returned to the room. The footsteps coming toward him pull up short, followed by a lowly muttered, “Fucking really?”

Derek stiffens, though he still doesn’t raise his head. He recognizes that voice.

What the fuck is Stiles Stilinski, Beacon Hills’ goddamn sweetheart, doing in detention? He knows that Stiles got in trouble recently - Cora follows the gossip of BHHS almost religiously, gushing at the dinner table about people Derek recognizes but doesn’t really know or care about - but really, detention? For the Golden Boy? It’s almost shocking that they’re punishing him at all.

He decides he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s tired from only two hours of sleep the night before and he ignores Stiles settling at a table close by, shifting around, and bag knocking against the wooden table.

About ten minutes pass and he’s about to slip under again when Stiles lets out an angry sigh. He can’t resist taunting, “What’re  _you_  doing here, Stilinski? Did you only score half the winning points at the last lacrosse game instead of all of them?”

Stiles snorts and says just as bitingly, “I thought you were locked up,  _Hale_.”

Derek huffs a laugh and drawls, “Not quite yet.”

“Yeah, well, keep pulling that breaking and entering shit and you will be soon.” Stiles informs him.

Derek raises his head this time, narrows his eyes at where Stiles sits two tables over. “Are you fucking serious?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Jesus, dude, I was just fucking trying to give you a tip. Excuse the fuck out of me.”

Well, well, this is a side of Stiles he expects most people haven’t seen before: Snarky Dickwad. It’s almost enough to make Derek think better of him. “You should mind your own fucking business. And why would I listen to  _you_  anyway?”

“Son of a Sheriff. I hear things.” He replies nonchalantly, fiddling with one of the woven bracelets tied around his wrist.

Derek sneers, putting his arms flat on the table and leaning forward. “That’s right. Son of the Sheriff! And what kind of advice, _Mr. Sheriff’s Son_ , would you give someone who showed up to school totally strung out from a bender?”  _Thanks for that little snippet, Cora._

Stiles’ eyes flare and he clenches his jaw. “I wasn’t – I’m not strung out! I was fucking  _hungover_  from a  _birthday_  party.” He hisses.

“That’s not what I heard.” Derek heckles with a shit-eating grin, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, last time I checked, no one would willingly talk to  _you_  anyways.” Stiles bites back.

Derek can’t help the way his jaw clenches. “Oh no, of course not. Not like they talk to  _you_.” He hisses venomously. “Perfect, popular Stiles Stilinski, the best of the best, the cream of the crop. The sun shines out of your ass and your word is law! The Sheriff’s son, the lacrosse champion, straight A student and all around kiss-ass extraordinaire!”

Stiles’ face twists in an ugly grimace. “Well, you seem to have me all figured out. At least I don’t fuck shit up just because I feel like it. I mean, seriously, you’re ruining your fucking life and making everyone else’s miserable just because you lost people you love-”

Derek leaps over his table and slams his hands down on either side of Stiles. He leans in, stopping just inches away, and snarls, “ _Don’t fucking talk about my family_.”

Stiles stares at him, not seeming bothered at all. “You don’t scare me.” He states, eyes hardening. “Not like you do everyone else.” His mouth twists in an angry smile and tips his chin up a little in challenge. “You gonna hit me now, Derek? Will that make you feel better?”

Derek scoffs, leaning closer. Stiles doesn’t move away, just lets Derek get close enough that he can feel Stiles’ smooth, warm breaths against his face. It surprises him that Stiles doesn’t seem bothered by how close he is. “Not worth it. Besides, it seems like you’ve got me all figured out too, eh, Stiles?”

The air is charged and Stiles takes a deep, angry breath, face moving a little closer.

Harris’ voice suddenly rings out, “Back to your seat, Hale. Remember, one more offense and you’re done.”

Derek stands up and takes a step back, leaning against the table behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. He sees Harris shoot an oily smile at Stiles who turns away to scowl at the wall where the teacher can’t see the expression.

“You know, I’m sure the Sheriff wouldn’t like to hear that you were harassing his son.” The man’s smile turns gleeful. “Perhaps I should call him and see what he thinks we should do about that?”

Icy cold dread runs down Derek’s spine. One call, one call and that’s fucking it. All of it, his whole stupid life, down the drain. Maybe it’s for the best but he’s not fucking looking forward to that. There’s really no way out though, he thinks, as Mr. Harris pulls out his cell phone.

“He wasn’t harassing me, Mr. Harris.” Stiles says, sounding just this side of respectful. Derek tries not to shoot him a look of total disbelief when he adds, “We were disagreeing about a baseball game. You know how competitive sports can get.” The winsome smile lighting up Stiles’ face is enough to make Derek want to puke. He shrugs and adds, “It’s fine. I started the conversation and I got a little heated.”

Harris smiles again, less creepy this time. “You really must be careful how heated your encounters get, Mr. Stilinski. You wouldn’t want to prompt any sort of reaction from Mr. Hale, here. He has a tendency to react violently.”

Derek flushes a little, despite himself, and looks over at Stiles to gauge his reaction.  

Stiles’ eyes flicker a little, glancing at Derek before settling back on Harris, but his smile stays firmly in place. He leans forward a little as he answers, chin cupped in one of his palms, and tone contemplative. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind, Mr. Harris. Really, though, physical intimidation can only go so far. Abuse of power is what really gets me, you know? Like, sniveling jerks that mess with people who can’t fight back, just because it gives them some sick thrill.” There’s a glint in his eyes that belays the calm politeness of his tone. He sits back, waving his hand as if to clear the air, and his tone is lighter. “But it’s only if someone is willing to let themselves be intimidated that they really need to worry, wouldn’t you agree, Sir?”  

Derek flicks his eyes to Harris, to see if the man is even bright enough to pick up on the fact that Stiles is clearly calling him out. The teacher just clears his throat, straightening up to his full height with a slight tug on his blazer lapels. “Indeed, Mr. Stilinski.” He snaps his eyes to Derek. “I said, back to your seat, Hale.” He waits as Derek walks back to his original seat before he turns and walks out of the room.

Derek doesn’t sit, just looks over at Stiles who’s studying him intently. The level of scrutiny in his eyes is unnerving. That, paired with how Stiles basically just saved his ass, is enough to make him twitchy. “What?” He finally snaps, crossing his arms.

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves back from the table, stalking off down one of the aisles angrily without a word.

Derek stares after him then rolls his eyes too, fully intending on returning to his plan to nap. He sits down, though in the chair next to his original spot, just to be contrary, and puts his head back on his arms.

After a solid ten minutes of trying to sleep, he’s left staring at the shadowed table top with wide open eyes.

“Fuck.” He blows out a breath and pushes to his feet. He meanders through the shelves, trying to spot Stiles among the books.

He finds Stiles sitting with his knees drawn up, arms resting over them as he stares at his hand and twirls the gold ring he wears on his middle finger, the familiar one that’s been given to all of the people he’s dated.  _"I_ _t's practically his signature move, giving someone his ring and I think it's kinda romantic, right? I mean, I heard that one time he even-" "Cora," - Laura, fond but exasperated - "please stop talking about Stiles Stilinski and eat your peas"_. Derek shakes his head a little, shuffles in place for a second before settling across from Stiles, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“Thanks,” he grunts after a long stretch of silence because he kinda  _does_  need to say it.

Stiles looks up with a tiny embarrassed smile. “Yeah, well, just because you’re a dick doesn’t mean you deserve to get locked up.”

“Thanks,” he says again, this time sarcastically, though he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. He tucks it back before it can bloom.

“Speaking of being a dick, I’m really sorry.” Stiles drops his head back against the bookshelf. “I shouldn’t have brought up your family. That wasn’t okay.”

Derek frowns, eyes dropping to his scuffed black boots. He’s shocked at the apology, to say the least, though Stiles is known for being almost painfully pleasant and kind. “It’s whatever.”

“Nah man.” Stiles insists. “It was a really shitty thing to do and I’m really sorry.” He shrugs, looking a little helpless, and says, “I’m just… on edge lately? God that sounds so dumb.” He scrubs his spindly hands through his hair, messing up the tidy brown locks.

Derek hums and, without thinking, asks, “Why?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, mouth quirking like he’s surprised at the question, but he still answers, “It’s been almost five years. Anniversary’s coming up.” He shrugs again, staring down at the floor.

Derek lets out a breath. “Shit.”

Stiles huffs a little laugh. “Yeah.”

Everyone in town knew, and loved, Claudia Stilinski. She ran the bakery in town and was known for her cookies and her kindness and her high, happy laugh. Cancer found too late had killed her within six months of the diagnosis. Everyone also knew how devastated Sheriff John Stilinski was and how withdrawn Stiles became in the months after his mother’s death.

That was three years before the fire, back when Derek paid more attention to things like that. He’d actually been at the funeral, remembers seeing Stiles, blank-faced and dead-eyed, standing next to his father.

The only difference between the two of them, Derek figures, is that when everything fell to shit for them, Stiles focused on his father and friends and school and sports. Derek did sort of the opposite. Though he loves his sisters fiercely, he could give two fucks about homework and sports. Any friends he had from before didn’t know what to do with him anymore, the angry ball of pain and rage that just wouldn’t cheer up. It was better, he figured, to just not bother.

So, Derek doesn’t have much to say that will comfort Stiles, since he’s barely got a handle on his own shit. He thinks for a second before he offers slowly, “I have some bud.”

Stiles gives him a curious look, glancing around like he expects Harris to pop up right then and there. He doesn’t sound scandalized, just inquisitive, when he asks, “Are you serious?”

Derek shrugs, smirks. “It’ll help take the edge off, that’s for sure.”

Stiles glances back toward the tables, biting his lip.

“If you want some, you can join me on the balcony.” Derek informs him, standing and walking toward the stairs, leaving Stiles sitting on the floor, looking up at him.

Harris comes in to check on them again before Derek actually makes it upstairs. He’s sitting, innocently enough, at the table when the man strolls into the main area and gives him a sneer.

“Where’s Mr. Stilinski?” He asks, glasses flashing like a bad cartoon villain.

Derek shrugs, nodding at the shelves. “He went to get a book for homework or something.”

Harris makes a strange sound in this throat, sort of like a toad, and nods before turning back around and leaving the room again.

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls out his one-hitter that he keeps stashed in his cigarette box before heading up the stairs. He opens the window stationed around head height before settling on the balcony, dropping his legs over the side as he pulls the weed from his pocket and packs the piece. He sits back, lights up and takes a couple of drags.

“I’m pretty sure Harris giddily waits for people to fuck up so he can trap them here.” Stiles states when he plops down next to Derek on the balcony five minutes later, dropping his legs out to dangle over the edge too.

“He’s pretty twisted. Probably watching us right now. He seems the voyeuristic type.” Derek agrees, passing his one-hitter to Stiles, the end of it bright orange from the lit cherry. “He’s the only teacher that ever does Friday detentions. I’m guessing he doesn’t have a life outside of this place.”

Stiles chuckles and looks at the hitter for a moment, like he’s having an internal debate. Just when Derek’s about to pull it back, make some disparaging comment, he plucks it up with long fingers. He takes a long pull, deep enough that Derek realizes he’s definitely smoked before. He blows smoke rings toward the window before turning with an easy grin.

“So I gotta ask, dude, because I’m hella curious. I heard you got caught fucking around in the boiler room, that that was the B&E you pulled. What were you even doing in there?” He asks, sucking in another deep drag and passing the one-hitter back to Derek.

He knows his grin is sharp, wolfish even, when he answers, “More of a question of  _whom_  I was doing.”

Stiles barks a laugh, a cloud of smoke hazing out in front of his face. He coughs a little, shaking his head with a wide grin. “Oh man! That’s crazy bold, dude. Did you get caught  _in flagrante delicto_?”

Derek stares, just a little, because, well, this is Stiles Stilinski he’s talking to, who’s speaking to Derek in a genial tone and asking him questions as if he’s interested in the answer, like they’re friends or something. It’s suddenly very weird.

Stiles wrinkles his nose and asks, “What?”

Derek lifts one shoulder, lets it drop. He focuses on the last statement. “Most people use that phrase but don’t actually know what it means. Just weird that you said it, I guess.”

Stiles smiles with one side of his mouth, gives a small shrug too. “Yeah, and most people think Lydia is stupid.” He rolls his eyes and says in a matter of fact tone, “ _I_  find that most people don’t know shit.”

Lydia being, of course, "the _Lydia freaking Martin."_ Cora goes on and on about her constantly, worship in her tone and stars in her eyes. According to his little sister, Lydia’s _"the most popular girl at BHHS"_ and _"dresses like a runway model"_ and _"has hair like a goddess"_ and is "the _Stiles Stilinski’s best friend."_

Personally, Derek doesn’t like the calculating shine that comes to Lydia’s gaze when she looks at him. It’s seriously creepy and he avoids her when he can.

Stiles tilts his head a bit, eyes glinting with amusement, as he continues, “From your statement and now silence, I’m guessing most people think I’m stupid too.”

“Not stupid.” Derek supplies, though he’s not really sure why he’s so quick about it. Must be the weed. He mulls it over for a second before continuing with, “Book smart enough to get by but they figure that your straight As probably come from being the Captain of the lacrosse team.”

“Co-captain.” Stiles says, like it’s automatic, as he drops his eyes. He frowns, rubbing at his wrist with the bracelets again. “I get it, I guess. It’s just… frustrating, you know? Having people’s eyes on you all the fucking time.” He lifts his eyes and his stare seems to bore into Derek.

He’s so startled that he answers, honestly, when he would normally get defensive or deflect the question, “Yeah.”

“I mean,” Stiles continues, accepting the one-hitter again, “not to overstep or anything, but I see how people stare at you, too.”

Derek nods, feeling the buzz start to kick in. “It’s exhausting,” he admits, rubbing at his jaw. He needs to shave. He figures, they’ve already opened the can of worms, so he adds, “And people like Harris just  _looove_  to give commentary on my life, like they even fucking know what’s going on in my head.”

Stiles nods, holding in his breath before exhaling and saying in a mocking tone, “I understand that you’re going through a hard time right now and you may be feeling like no one understands… but  _I_  do.” He makes a jerking off motion with one of his hands. “Like, come the fuck on. It’s such a fucking joke.”

Derek nods. “Like, quit fucking trying to tell me how I  _should_  feel and just let me fucking  _be_.”

“Ugh, exactly!” Stiles throws a hand up, shaking his head.

They sit in silence after that, passing the piece back and forth between them. Again, it’s oddly like they’re just two friends, hanging out with the whole weekend ahead of them. Derek repacks the hitter, feeling Stiles’ gaze on him like a tangible thing.

They’re both glassy-eyed and slumped back on their elbows when Stiles suddenly turns and grabs an honest-to-God brown paper lunch bag that Derek didn’t notice before from his other side. He opens it up, pulling out an orange, two small packs of chips, a can of Coke, a muffin, and a pack of wet wipes.

“Really?” Derek asks, quirking his eyebrow at the wipes.

“Always be prepared.” Stiles sing-songs. He frowns at the empty bag before he crows and pulls a pack of mini-Oreos from the pocket of his cargo pants. “You want some?” He asks, shaking the bag.

“Yeah.” Derek accepts the Oreos and sits back up so he can use both hands. They dig into the food, splitting it evenly down the middle, though Derek eats pretty much the whole orange after Stiles complains about how tart it is. After he finishes his half of the muffin, he says, “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Stiles laughs, crunching the last of his chips. “I didn’t expect to get stoned today or I’d have brought more. I’m glad I grabbed the Oreos last minute though.” He pops one of the cookies in his mouth and makes a happy sound. “God, you were right. The edge is certainly off right now.” He shoves four cookies in his mouth at once.

Derek laughs. He stops, though, when he sees the strange look on Stiles’ face. “What?”

“Nothing, dude, it’s just…” He shakes his head a little, gives Derek a lopsided smile. “You look a lot less like a serial killer when you laugh.”

“What a pleasant observation.” He says dryly.

Stiles laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Just thought you should know.” He leans his arms on the railing around the balcony, a warm flush coloring his cheeks as he props his chin on his folded hands, casting his warm brown eyes over the empty library. He looks really… well, _beautiful_.

Derek is  _really_  stoned. He clears his throat, looks down at the Coke. “Wanna crack that open?”

Stiles looks at the drink like he forgot it was there. “Oh, yeah.” He pops the tab with a flourish, takes a long drought from it, chin tipped up, neck a long line of pale skin dotted with moles.

Derek’s imagining where else Stiles has moles when the can is held out to him. He takes it, fingers brushing against Stiles’. “Thanks.” He takes a big sip, relishing the cold drink. He settles the half-full can in between them and a little ways back so they don’t knock it over. He accepts the wet wipe with a mocking smile but it gets the worst of the orange off his fingers easily.

They spend the next hour and a half just… chilling, eventually moving down to the tables so they don’t get in trouble for being away from where they’re supposed to sit and pay their penance. It’s, again, oddly companionable as they go back to their original spots. They end up tossing a paper ball back and forth over the tables.

They don’t talk much, but when they do, it’s about people at the school they both know – “dude, Lahey’s dad finally got caught beating him up” “thank god, that guy is a fucking shit sandwich of a person, I mean, not  _thank god_ , but…” “yeah, I get it, I hate that it happened but I’m glad Isaac’ll be away from him, he’s a good guy” – or tv shows – “you can _not_  tell me you liked the ending of Lost” “it was good, why wouldn’t I?” “no, just no, it was fucking awful, I refuse to accept that answer” – and again, Derek is struck by how  _easy_  it is to talk to Stiles. He also can’t help but notice how Stiles sits, legs sprawled open and slumped down in his chair.

It’s all very bizarre. And distracting.

Harris comes in at five thirty on the dot, lips twisted into a mockery of a friendly smile, as usual. “Detention is over. Get your things and leave the building. Do  _not_  loiter in the parking lot.” He hands them both yellow detention slips with his signature scrawled along the bottom line.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris. I hope you have a lovely evening.” Stiles says genially, smile bright as he folds the paper and slips it into his book bag. He zips it up, puts one strap on his shoulder, and salutes the teacher jauntily.

Derek has to fight not to laugh like the stoned idiot that he is. He just shoves the paper in his pocket, grabs his bag, and follows Stiles out the door.

They both walk in silence until they reach the doors that lead to the student parking lot. It’s as if opening the doors is the signal they’ve needed and they burst into borderline hysterical laughter on the sidewalk.

When Derek’s able to breathe, he stands up from where he’s been leaning on a column to see Stiles wiping his eyes with his shirt collar, still giggling a little bit. There’s a stripe of skin revealed as the hem of the cotton rises, along with a line of dark hair that’s disappearing into his pants and… and whoa, hey,  _no_.  _No_ , not okay. Derek swallows, looks away.

What the fuck is  _wrong_  with him?

He starts walking toward the Camaro, not even bothering to say goodbye to Stiles because, fuck, let’s be real. This was a fluke. They didn’t choose to hang out together. They’ve never spent time together before and the only reason they did today is because they both got trapped in detention. Sure, they smoked a little, talked about… stuff but, whatever, that doesn’t suddenly make them  _friends_.

Stiles calls out, “Wh-uh, Derek, wait.”

Derek stops, turns, a strange tingle of  _maybe_  twisting in his stomach. Maybe  _what_ … he doesn’t know. He raises an eyebrow for Stiles to start talking.

“I just wanted to say thank you again, for smoking me out.” Stiles says, shrugging his shoulder. “And sorry again, too.”

Derek frowns but he says, “Yeah, no problem.” He starts walking again.

Why bother making it into anything else? It’s Beacon Hills and, once Monday rolls around again, he’ll still be  _Derek Hale_ , whispered about with derision and pointed at and pitied, and Stiles will still be  _Stiles Stilinski_ , whispered about in reverence and adored and with the whole world at his feet.

\-----

The next morning, he slumps into the school with a groan. He spent another night up way too late, though last night, he actually cracked his school books open for the first time in months. He stared at the homework assignments, handed to him by frowning – but still, somehow painfully sympathetic – teachers and wondered if he could even save his grades at this point. It didn’t make for a prime sleeping mood.

“Good morning, Carolyn.” He says sleepily when he reaches the front desk, putting a little excess charm into his smile.

The aging receptionist narrows her eyes at him then jerks her head toward the library, though there is the slightest curve to the corner of her lips as he sighs like his heart is gonna break, “ _Bye_ , Carolyn.”

He hears her mutter in an exasperated voice, “ _Hale_.” It makes him grin as he heads down the hall.

The lights are on in the library and he can see Harris standing next to the circulation desk. There’s a fucking ridiculous amount of books stacked next to him and Derek doesn’t like the look he can see on Harris’ face.

When he gets inside, Harris practically beams at him. Yeah, he’s fucked. “Mr. Hale! How lovely of you to join us. You’re only,” he glances at his stupid, ugly smart-watch, “two minutes late.”

Derek nods. “Yeah, Carolyn kept me for a minute. You know how she is, can’t resist being near me.” Before Harris can reply to his snarky comment, the rest of the teacher’s words come through to his sleep-addled brain. “Wait, ‘us’ – who’s ‘us’?”

Harris moves a little to the side and Derek sees someone climbing the left side stairs with an armful of books. Messy brown hair and a red hoodie with jeans. There are no other defining features that he can see. “Seems you and Mr. Stilinski will have another chance to bond.”

Stiles is in detention again? And it’s  _Saturday_  detention which lasts almost the whole day, unlike the piddly week day detention. Derek is so fucking confused. None of Cora’s mindless prattle about Stiles – an easy thing to get her started on at dinner the night before, just a little _hey Cora, what did you say happened with so and so_  then mentioning Stiles’ name – had revealed anything that he’d done that would warrant a Saturday detention. He’d had to ignore Laura’s curious expression, eyebrow raised, lips pursed as she watched him focus all his attention on his food.

Derek only grunts in reply. He drops his book bag next to the circulation desk.

“The librarians finished doing stock and repairing broken books. You and Mr. Stilinski will reshelf all of them so that the ladies can come into a clean work space on Monday.”

Derek doesn’t give him the pleasure of reacting, just reaches out and starts sorting the books into piles based on the numbers on the spines.

“I trust that there will be no more disturbances today.” Mr. Harris continues, eyeing Derek smugly.

He tightens his lips, resists the urge to say something that will get him in more trouble, and keeps sorting.

Harris stands there for another thirty seconds, glaring so hard now that Derek can almost feel the heat against the side of his head. The teacher leaves the library, the door shushing closed behind him.

Derek feels like he can finally take a breath when the annoying man is gone. He flicks his eyes up to the balcony where he can see Stiles moving among the shelves before focusing on his task.

When he and Stiles pass each other on the stairs, he gets a small nod and an absent smile. He mutters, “Stilinski” in return.

They continue on for the next few hours, both seeming to try and draw out the actual process for as long as they can. Derek figures if it takes them all day, at least Harris won’t decide to assign them more tasks and it’s better than being stuck at the tables with nothing to do. Then end up working past noon, not stopping for lunch, though Stiles drinks a large coffee then switches to one of the biggest Redbulls he’s ever seen.

It becomes almost fun as they pass, Stiles being the first one to playfully toss a book at him and grin before taking off at a swift walk into the shelves. Derek contemplates not responding – again, he and Stiles aren’t friends – but the mischievous glint in Stiles’ eyes has him placing his stack of books on a nearby table and doubling around.

He crouches and waits, darting his hand through a space on the bottom shelves to grab the leg of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles lets out a yelp and falls onto one knee, dropping his hands down onto the floor and peering into the space.

Derek knows his expression is amused and Stiles’ echoes it, eyes  flashing and mouth open in a grin. Derek can see the curve of his shoulders, the stretch of his shirt over his biceps, and has to clear his throat. He’s still a little scratchy when he says, “You’re it.”

He pulls back, darts away, and retrieves his books. He heads to the History section and starts shelving biographies. He has half his attention on the books and half his attention trying to listen for Stiles. He goes back to the circulation desk, shelves more books, then back to the desk. When he gets there, Stiles pops up from behind the wood, grasps his wrist, and hisses, “Gotcha.”

Derek jumps. Then scowls a little. “Dammit.” He grumbles while Stiles laughs, ditches his hoodie on the desk, and grabs a stack of books, heading off into the shelves again.

Around two, after they’ve chased and scared each other and Stiles declares himself the winner, they’re actually done with the shelving. Derek heads back to the desk to grab his bag then meets Stiles at the tables, dropping his bag into the chair he sat at yesterday.

“Do you…” Derek bites his lip, feeling like an idiot delinquent for even thinking of smoking with the  _Sheriff’s son_  in the school library  _again_.

“Do I what?” Stiles asks, hopping up onto his table and leaning back on his hands, his trim body displayed in a long, clean line.

“Never mind.” He shakes his head. The whole thing is a terrible idea. Plus, if they were to be caught, he would definitely be the one to end up in trouble, not Stiles.

“No, come on, man. Just ask.” Stiles’ smile is incredibly disarming.

There’s a part of Derek that thinks Stiles may have super powers, with polite charm that good. He goes ahead and asks, “Do you wanna smoke again?”

Stiles laughs and hops to his feet again. “I’m really glad you asked.” Stiles pulls a bigger brown paper bag from his book bag. “It makes me bringing so much extra food a lot less awkward.”

Derek can’t help but smile. “Come on.” They head to where they were the day before, Stiles opening the window before he settles next to Derek.

They smoke two bowls and get to around the same level of high as yesterday. When Derek looks over, Stiles is reaching for the paper bag. He pulls another pack of wipes out – sticks his tongue out at Derek’s snort – and then follows it with a bag of mini Oreos, two sandwiches, pudding cups, gummy snacks, and a Coke.

“We only had one left in the house.” He explains, holding the single can up with a guilty smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. As long as you’ll share.” Derek shrugs.

Stiles smiles. “Of course.”

They eat everything, looking out over the library. It’s quieter on the weekends, the only sounds carrying from the vents or the building settling around them. When they’re finished, Stiles pops the tab on the soda like before, takes a long glug or two, and hands it to Derek.

He takes a long sip and puts the can between them, a little ways back like yesterday. It’s weird, that he and Stiles have hung around each other one on one for a few hours and are perfectly okay sharing drinks, that they almost have a routine. He stares across the way, onto the other side of the balcony and the windows there, at the greenery that he knows is the Preserve. It makes him feel strange, almost detached to see it from the angle he’s at.

“So what did you do to get detention?” He asks without looking away from the view.

Stiles snorts. “Well, like I said, I was hungover as fuck from Jackson’s birthday party. I overslept and missed half of presentation day in Harris’ class. Needless to say, he almost orgasmed when he had a chance to give me detention. It shouldn’t have mattered, really, since my presentation wasn’t until the next day, but, you know how he is.”

Derek laughs, shakes his head, and looks over at Stiles. “Seriously? That’s it?”

Stiles laughs too. “What else did you expect? That I did something crazy? That I really am strung out?” He doesn’t sound angry about any of it, just shrugs. “I’ve got too many people wanting too fucking much from me. I just... wanted to get drunk and have fun and not think for a while, you know?”

“Don’t let them do that to you then.” Derek shrugs.

“You make it sound easy.” Stiles huffs, rolling up a small piece of paper and flicking it off his palm, sending it shooting down into the library below.

“Some things _are_ easy. Just do what you want and fuck what everyone else thinks. It makes it a hell of a lot simpler.” His eyes track the next two paper balls that Stiles flicks over the balcony.

Stiles mumbles, “Some things _are_ out of reach, even for me.”

“You could do whatever you wanted. You’ve got everything at your fingertips and everyone begging to do things for you. I have a hard time imagining anyone actually refusing you.” Derek informs him and, hey look at that, he’s not even feeling bitter about it. It’s just the truth. People love Stiles.

Stiles huffs and flicks a couple more paper balls. Derek tracks the movement again, focusing to see where the tiny white specks are landing. When he looks back up, Stiles is staring at him, eyes on his mouth. “What?” He asks, fingers going to his lips. “Is there something on my face?”

“Uh, no.” Stiles shakes his head, dragging his eyes back up to focus on Derek’s.

It’s a strange moment, tense. Their eyes lock. Stiles licks his lips and Derek, without thinking about it, mirrors him.

He’s not really sure how it happens but one minute, they’re staring at each other, and the next, Stiles is very close, fingers resting gently, shaking a little bit, on Derek’s jaw as he leans in and softly presses their mouths together.

He makes a small noise of surprise and Stiles pulls back, looking shamefaced. He must look shocked because Stiles winces and bites his lip.

“Sorry, I thought that you, I mean Danny mentioned, but I, uh, it’s  _me_  though, so… never mind. Sorry. I’m just gonna…” Stiles pulls back, dropping his hand and moving like he’s going to get up.

"No." Derek’s hand darts out, catching and fisting in the front of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him back and slotting their mouths together again, harder this time. Stiles makes a sound low in his throat and clutches at Derek’s shoulders.

Derek brings his other hand up, rests it at the base of Stiles’ skull and tilts his head just so to deepen the kiss. Yeah, kissing Danny behind the bleachers that time was interesting. And making out with Ethan in the boiler room had been great, but this? He feels like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket, every place where he and Stiles are touching lighting up with sensation.

Stiles flicks his tongue along Derek’s lower lip and he drops his mouth open without hesitation. Stiles tastes a little like the weed – Train Wreck, he thinks, almost giggling at the name of the strain – but mostly like Oreos and the soda.

Derek pulls back, to move the soda so they don’t knock it over. Stiles makes a small sound of protest, following his mouth. Derek laughs, leaning back now that the soda is out of the way. Stiles takes the invitation for what it is, leaning over him and throwing a leg over Derek’s hips.

Stiles settles on top of him, elbows down and caging him in as he dives in for another kiss. He pauses right before their lips touch again, murmurs, “This is okay, right?”

Derek rolls his eyes and snaps,  _“Yes._  Just kiss me already.”

Stiles grins and does as Derek says. Everything gets hotter, their kisses more wet, lips gliding slickly together. Derek groans lowly as Stiles rolls his hips just so, a spark of heat pooling in his stomach at the friction against his dick. His hands clutch at Stiles’ hips, digging into the skin revealed as his shirt rucks up.

God, Stiles smells so fucking _good_ , like clean skin and some kind of subtle cologne. Derek tips his head back, lets Stiles kiss his jaw, move back to his ear. His hips buck a little when Stiles takes his earlobe gently between his teeth, biting just hard enough to make him gasp, before he moves on to mouth at his neck.

Stiles rolls his hips again and Derek turns his head, licks a hot stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck that makes him shudder. Oh no, it’s certainly not Derek’s first time hooking up at the school but this time takes the cake, he thinks, as Stiles kisses him again, hard enough that their teeth press against each other’s mouths.

Derek sits up, stomach muscles protesting a little, so he can feel more of Stiles against him. His head is tilted up, Stiles kissing down into his mouth.

“God you’re so fucking hot.” Stiles murmurs as he puts his hands in Derek’s hair, tightening his fingers.

“Not bad yourself.” Derek smirks, exhaling a little laugh as Stiles nips his bottom lip.

“And such a charmer too.” Stiles teases, soothing the sharpness of the bite with his tongue before he pulls Derek’s lower lip into his mouth.

“Talkin’ too much.” Derek scolds, sliding his hands up the back of Stiles’ shirt, the skin of his back hot against Derek’s palms.

“Can’t help it.” Stiles says between fevered presses of their lips. “It’s how I am.”

“I could make you be quiet.” Derek growls, bucking his hips up hard.

Stiles lets out a little cry, gasping against Derek’s mouth. “Wh-oa…” He grinds down and pants, “I’ll have you know, I’m still very vocal in bed. It’ll take a lot to shut me up.”

“Hmm, guess we’ll have to test that theory.” He bites down hard on the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder and it earns him a heady moan that is maybe one of the hottest sounds he’s ever heard in his life. “Then again, if that’s how you always sound when you’re like this…”

Stiles grins down at him, a dazzling flash of teeth and dancing eyes, hair mussed. “I knew you’d come around.” He presses another hot, wet kiss to Derek’s mouth before pulling back. “I really want to suck your dick right now.”

“Oh my god.” Derek groans, eyes closing for a second as he tries not to come just from hearing  _those_  words from  _that_  mouth, lips plush and wet.

“Is that a yes?” Stiles asks, grinning impishly down at him.

Derek nods, so fast that it’d be embarrassing if Stiles’ face didn’t light up with such glee. He wriggles a little and Derek scoots back, resting against a bookshelf and watching as Stiles pushes up his shirt, running his fingers over Derek’s abs before he undoes the black leather belt with nimble fingers.

“I’ve thought about this.” Stiles confesses lowly as he pushes the ends of the belt aside and pops the button on Derek’s jeans.

“Have you?” He asks, reaching out and running his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip.

“Mmhmm.” Stiles turns his head, sucks Derek’s thumb into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Often, actually.”

“Interesting.” He hums.

Stiles drags the zipper down slowly enough that Derek can feel every tooth separating. “Very.” When he pulls the sides of Derek’s jeans apart, catches sight of the hard length of him in the black boxer briefs, he looks up coyly and murmurs, “Better than I imagined though.”

Derek groans again, leaning forward and kissing Stiles hard in a filthy mess of tongues before leaning back. “You’re killing me.”

“Not yet.” Stiles runs his fingers over Derek’s dick, lightly at first, then firmly, squeezing him through the cloth. He does it several times, enough that Derek is almost crying from how good it feels.

“Come on,” Derek pants, “ _please_  Stiles.”

“God you look so fucking beautiful right now.” Stiles murmurs, slipping his fingers into the slot of the underwear. “Fucking wrecked and begging for me.”

Derek fucking  _whimpers_  when Stiles finally pulls him free of the underwear, egged on by the softly whispered words. He blinks down and Stiles is looking at his dick like it’s a work of art. He’s just about to beg again when Stiles leans forward and licks straight up the length, hand wrapping around to pull the foreskin down, tongue dipping into the slit.

“And you’re not cut. Jesus fucking Christ.” Stiles glances skyward and whispers, “Thank you.” Derek almost laughs but Stiles takes him into his mouth all at once and all the air whooshes out of his lungs.

It’s messy and filthy and  _perfect_ , spit dribbling down the sides of his dick as Stiles moves up and down, lips meeting his fist before rising back up. He gets a rhythm going, pumping his hand and bobbing his head. He flicks his wrist on the next upward motion, twisting a little and it makes Derek see stars.

It’s been a while since he’s hooked up with anyone – having been interrupted while with Ethan – so he’s already close after a couple of minutes.

He tries to say  _Stiles, I’m about to come_  but what comes out is a breathy, “ _Stiles_ …” He clutches at Stiles’ hair, trying to tug him off but Stiles tilts his head, moves his hand and takes Derek’s dick deep into his throat, sucking hard.

Derek’s fist tightens hard in Stiles’ hair, earning him a moan that vibrates all around his dick, and he’s fucking gone, shooting down Stiles’ throat. Stiles sucks him down, swallows again and again until Derek flops back against the shelf, breathing hard. He’s more on the ground than he was before, having slid down a bit.

Stiles pulls his head up and grins like a fox, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Talk about looking wrecked. Stiles’ mouth is swollen and red now. Derek pulls him up by the collar of his shirt, kisses him deeply. Stiles makes another delicious sound into his mouth before they pull apart.

“I’m just – need to…” He props himself up on one elbow and tries to undo his jeans with one hand.

“Here.” Derek reaches down, helps him get the button open and slides the zipper down. He’s met with nothing but skin and he sighs, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ dick, giving it a quick pull. “No underwear.” He tsks. “Let it be known: Stiles Stilinski, good-guy and community darling, goes commando.”

Stiles huffs, forehead resting on Derek’s collarbone and watching as Derek moves his hand up and down his shaft. “I had early practice before this. Forgot to bring more underwear.”

“Not complaining.” Derek assures him, focusing on the feel of Stiles’ skin, soft and warm against his palm. “Definitely not complaining.” He squeezes a little and Stiles gasps, biting his bottom lip.

“Probably not gonna last long.” Stiles informs him, arching into the steady movement of his hand.

“S’fine.” He tips Stiles’ chin up with his free hand, kisses him again as Stiles gasps into his mouth. He swallows up the tiny, breathy sounds, relishing the way Stiles is clutching at him, hold tight enough to leave bruises.  _Oh god, let there be bruises._

“Ah, I’m… ah… oh god,  _Derek_.” Stiles whines and it makes Derek half-crazy to hear him sound like that.

Derek surges up harder, kissing him almost savagely as stripes of heat land on his stomach. He slows his movements, gentles his hold until Stiles makes a soft sound and he lets go. He drops his wet hand to the side and runs the other through Stiles’ hair.

Eventually, Stiles pulls back, dropping down to his other side to lie panting up at the ceiling. When he seems to catch his breath, he rolls his head over, gives Derek a smile that makes him feel like he’s melting.

“That… was amazing.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Bet you’re glad I brought the wipes now.” Stiles teases as he sits up, reaching over Derek to get the package. He pulls a couple out, handing some to Derek so he can clean his hand.

Stiles wipes off his dick then grabs another wipe and starts cleaning Derek’s stomach in firm but still gentle swipes. It startles him a little, even after what they just did, and he stares down at Stiles, who’s biting his lower lip in what looks like concentration.

“Thanks.” He says, sitting up and tucking himself back into his underwear, fastening his jeans and his belt.

“Sure.” Stiles says, tucking himself back into his jeans. He smiles, leaning in for a kiss that’s barely a peck, just a light press of lips that’s oddly chaste. He pulls back with a tiny smile.

It makes something feel weird in Derek’s chest but before he can say anything, Stiles’ phone starts going off.

_live fast, die young, bad girls do it well, live fast, die young, bad girls do it well, live fast, die young, bad girls do it well_

Stiles huffs a breath, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Hey Lyds.” He listens for a moment before saying, “Yeah, alright. I’ll be out in a bit. Harris has to sign off on my slip.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Bye.” He puts the phone back in his pocket. “Evidently, it’s time to go.”

Derek nods, standing and hold a hand out to help Stiles to his feet. He takes it, smiling and squeezing Derek’s hand before grabbing up the trash and shoving it into the brown paper bag. They head down stairs, reaching the tables just as Harris walks in.

Derek has a brief moment of panic that it smells like weed and that it’s glaringly obvious that he and Stiles had sex, but Harris just hands them both yellow pieces of paper and says, “Mr. Stilinski, Mr. Hale, I hope I don’t have to see you back here any time soon.”

“We hope that too, Mr. Harris.” Stiles chirps happily as he puts the wipes in his gym bag and hoists it onto his shoulder.

“Hmf.” Harris narrows his eyes but leaves without saying anything else.

When they walk through the doors, Derek doesn’t see Stiles’ signature blue jeep, but he spots a little silver car sitting in the lot, several spaces from his Camaro. He and Stiles start walking, coming up short where they have to split up.

Stiles smiles at him nervously, shuffling his feet, and suddenly, Derek sees it all clearly.

So they hooked up. Whatever, hookups happen. It wouldn’t be first time Derek had sex with someone from the “in” crowd. By now, he knows the drill. Don’t make it weird, don’t mention it to anyone. Come Monday, this whole thing will have never happened.

It makes Derek  _sick_.

As he goes to say something, a sharp remark, something,  _anything_  to make it hurt a little less, Stiles grabs his hand and puts something in his palm.

He blinks dumbly down at the ring he sees there. “What is this?”

“A ring.” Stiles answers sarcastically before scratching the side of his head. “It’s, ah, a gesture, you know?” He bites his lip, looking even more nervous all of a sudden. “So you know this, uhm, wasn’t just a hookup. For me anyways.”

It’s  _the_  ring, a tangible sign of Stiles' intent and _everyone_ knows what it looks like. They'll all notice that Stiles isn't wearing it and, fuck _everyone_ stares at Derek wherever he goes. What if they notice that _he’s_ the one wearing Stiles’ ring now? “I can’t take this.” Derek holds his hand out, tries to get Stiles to take the ring back.

“Oh.” Stile frowns, looking a little hurt almost, which is kinda baffling to Derek.

“Yeah, I…” Derek’s mind is a whir. “We…” His sentence fizzles out. He’s not sure what the fuck to say. It’s like Stiles pressed restart on his brain and it’s still booting up.

“Look, if it  _was_  just a hookup for you, that’s fine.” Stiles drops his eyes, looking like it’s actually far from fine. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about you, Derek, other than what I’ve heard about you from other people. But I’d like to get to know you more because what I have learned for myself over the past two days... you seem really cool and smart and...” He shakes his head. “Either way, you need to let me know so I can act accordingly. I mean, I can pretend like it never happened, if you want me to. It’ll suck, but…” He shrugs, looking a little helpless, as he says, “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

Derek frowns, feeling like he’s in the Twilight Zone. Stiles is standing in front of him, mouth still a little swollen from kissing him and his neck has marks from Derek’s mouth and he’s almost begging to be given a chance to… what? _Date_ Derek? What the fuck? He looks hard at Stiles’ face, the sincerity shining in his eyes, the hopeful set of his mouth as he bites his lower lip.

He opens his mouth, still not positive what to say, and what comes out is, “What if I lose it?”

Stiles smiles at him, a slow hesitant curve. He says with utter sincerity, “I trust you.”

“You really think that’s wise?” Derek can’t help but snark, hand tight around the ring.

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “It's one of the easiest decisions I’ve made in a long time.”

Derek narrows his eyes, recalling their earlier conversation. He nods slowly then tries the gold band on a couple of his fingers before it ends up on his right ring finger. He flexes his hand, liking the look of the twined gold shining there.

A thought pops into his head. He reaches up to the back of his neck, undoing the clasp of the chain resting just above the collar of his shirt.

He pulls the chain from inside his shirt, holding it out to Stiles. He mumbles, “Here.”

Stiles peers at the necklace, reaching out to inspect the pendant but not to actually take it. “I saw the chain earlier. What is it?”

“A wolf.” He explains. “I’ve had it forever.” He shrugs, feeling a little stupid now.

Stiles’ smile gets a little brighter. He takes the necklace and loops it twice around his neck before fastening it. “How’s it look?”

Doubling the chain makes the necklace higher and Stiles’ v-neck shirt displays the pendant perfectly. The silver wolf, baying at an unseen moon, blood red stones glinting in its eyes, looks remarkably good. It hangs between Stiles’ collarbones, makes the hollow of his throat stand out.

“It looks good.” Derek reaches out one finger and presses lightly against the pendant.

“Thank you.” Stiles says. He smiles crookedly and raises his hand in a little wave as he starts to back away.

Derek waves back, turns to go to his car when he’s yanked back around. Stiles kisses him gently, despite the grabbing, and firmly. It’s the way he does a lot of things, Derek realizes. He hums into the kiss, Stiles’ mouth curving into a smile against his lips.

“I’ll see you Monday.” Stiles says as he pulls back.

“Okay.” Derek nods, starting back toward his car, glancing over his shoulder to see Stiles, huge ass grin on his face, lean to kiss Lydia on the cheek.

She smiles, cheek tipped up to accept it, eyes on Derek. She winks one bright green eye at him, lips curved in an all-knowing smile as she backs the car up and drives away.

Seriously creepy, Derek thinks as he gets in his car and pulls out of the lot, heading toward home.

He supposes he’ll have to stop avoiding her like the plague now, since she’s Stiles’ best friend. Stiles who  _likes_  him and says he wants to get to know him and gave him the famous _Stiles Stilinski ring_. Jesus, Cora is going to _flip._

He glances down at the ring and smiles, as the sun hits the gold just so, warmth pooling in his stomach.

Definitely the best detention he’s ever had. He almost thinks he should send Harris a card, though he’d rather just egg the guy’s house again.

Maybe this time around, Stiles will help him.

\-----

When he suggests this to Stiles, a week later as they’re making out in Stiles’ jeep after their first date, Stiles throws his head back and laughs brightly.

He then gives a mischievous smile, one that makes Derek’s knees quake in the best way, and says, “I know someone who has a ton of chickens. We can get as many eggs as we want.”

In that moment, Derek realizes that all the rumors are true: Stiles Stilinski is  _perfect_.

Derek reels him in for another kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit! I can never just post one chapter of anything!!!! 
> 
> So here's the background and Cora's reaction and Lydia being perf and... just, read it!

_[Wednesday]_

“So,” Lydia drawls, sliding into the seat next to him, “Harris gave you detention?”

Stiles has his forehead resting on the ugly, white lunch table, quietly and miserably bemoaning his existence with the absolute _worst_ hangover he’s ever had. It's the last fucking thing he needs right now. He sighs and grumbles, “Fucking douchebag.”

She laughs and he’s sure she tosses her hair over her shoulder – he doesn’t need to see her to know when she implements one of her signature moves. “Well,” she continues in a quiet, pleasant voice – the only grace she’ll give him in his pathetic state, “he’s probably creamed his pants. He’s never had the opportunity to publicly shame you before.”

“Again,” Stiles hisses, “fucking douchebag.”

“So now people think you’re strung out, apparently.” She informs him, her nails tapping away at what he assumes is her phone. “Just so you’re aware.”

“Dammit, my dad’s gonna be pissed.” And John Stilinski is already so close to shattering, so close to  _that time of year_ that it kills something in Stiles to disappoint him.

“He won’t believe them, Stiles.” Lydia assures him. “He knows it was Jackson’s birthday yesterday and that you ended your night at my house.” Because she was 'pissed off and a little heart-broken at how Jackson had his tongue down Malia Tate's throat' goes unspoken, though he'd held her hand while she cried and cursed Jackson's name.

“Eh, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He sighs and finally lifts his head, blinking his eyes open fully, glancing at his best friend. As his eyes focus on her vibrant hair, he catches sight of Derek Hale walking by and jerks his head to follow the other guy’s movement. “Uh…” He breathes softly, watching as Derek stalks past through the cafeteria, leather jacket and scowl perfectly in place.

“Breathe, Stiles.” Lydia reminds him with only the slightest bit of teasing in her tone, bless her.

“He’s just so…” Stiles sighs wistfully, trying not to be a creep but still trying to watch the way Derek walks. God _damn_ , the guy _walks_ like he’s sex on legs. He’s also got it on good authority – Danny doesn’t mess around with just anyone, okay – that Derek Hale can kiss so good that it’ll make you forget your own name. It makes Stiles _ache_ how much he wants to be all up on that. “I just…” he lets out what maybe could be described as a desperate, frustrated groan, “want to put my body parts on his body parts, why is that so wrong?!”

Lydia rolls her eyes, muttering, “Jesus, Stiles, just _ask him out_ already. You’re killing me with this ‘pining from afar’ shit you’ve got going on.”

“I mean,” Stiles muses as he tucks his chin into his hand and watches as Derek scowls his way through the lunch line, “he really is kind of perfect, you know? Who doesn’t like that ‘Bad Boy With A Heart of Gold’ persona? _I_ quite like it. It makes me feel all tingly in _all_ the right ways.”

“Jesus everloving…” Lydia makes _yet another_ exasperated sound – something he’s extremely familiar with, being her best friend for so long – and grabs his hair in one small hand, turning his face to hers, “Stiles…” She says slowly, like he won’t be able to understand, though, to be fair, his eyes are still trained on the beautiful curve of Derek Hale’s ass in those jeans, “Just. Fucking. Ask. Him. Out.”

“But…” He sputters, finally looking at her. “What if he says no?”

Her face is remarkably kind, though she never really gives him any sympathy when he’s hungover, since he made his own bed. “He won’t say no. Give him that stupid ring and be done with it.”

He gives her the best offended look he can manage. “Stupid ring…” He echoes, scoffing. “This ring is a _symbol_ , okay?”

“A symbol of how lame you are, maybe.” She simpers, pursing her lips at him in a judgmental moue and releasing his hair to continue typing on her phone.

“Psshhh…” He waves his hand in her face, ignoring how she bites at his fingers in a bright-white _snap_. “This ring is a sign, a clear and total declaration of my interest and intent.”

She rolls her eyes, still not lifting her gaze from her phone. He reasons she must be blogging. “So what’s stopping you from giving it to him?”

“I mean…” He mutters weakly, clearly faltering on the whole actually _implementing_ _his_ _plan_ part of the story. “Uh, we don’t have any classes together, so…?”

“You’re fucking pathetic.” She informs him, finally looking up and giving him mocking eyes that don’t make him feel any better. “But…” she sighs, leaning against his shoulder in what he’s going to choose to believe is solidarity and love, “I bet he’ll be in detention for that stunt he pulled in the boiler room.”

“What stunt in the boiler room?” He asks, back to watching Derek.

“He got caught messing around with someone in the boiler room over the weekend, didn’t you hear?” Her tone is so judgmental that he just rolls his eyes.

“I don’t pay attention to gossip." Though he _had_ heard his dad grumbling about someone breaking into the school over the weekend. "That’s what I have you for.” He kisses her cheek absently, holding back a sigh when Derek leaves the cafeteria, maroon tray clutched in his tight grip, to go to one of the outside tables.

“Well, he got caught and he’s got detention all week instead of being arrested.” She flicks his cheek, drawing his attention again. “He almost got sent away this time, Stiles. Do you really think getting involved with someone like that is worth it?”

“He’s…” he starts, not really sure where he’s going with his sentence. He clears his throat and tries again, “He’s not a bad person, Lyds. He’s just going through shit, y’know?” He drops his hand and fiddles with the fringe on her skirt. “I mean, if I didn’t have you, I could’ve ended up like him. Pissed off with everyone and everything and hating myself and…”

“Look,” she says, grabbing his chin, her green gaze piercing. “I’m not telling you that lusting after him is healthy, okay? What I _am_ saying is… maybe you two could be good for each other. You’re both so pretty. God, you’d be the hottest couple since Jackson and I.”

He gives her a look, dipping his chin to kiss her hand. “No one could be as hot as you and Jackson.”

She puffs up, smiling. “True. But you could give us a run for our money. Have you seen his cheekbones?”

Stiles sighs. “I know, right?”

She releases him, flicking his nose. “I’m just saying. You’ll probably have detention together. Try to make nice, okay?”

“What if…” he mumbles, nervous beyond all reason, “what if I fuck it up?”

She smirks at him, raising one beautiful, ginger eyebrow. “Then you’re an idiot who doesn’t deserve nice things.”

He smirks back at her. “Thanks, Lyds. Glad to know you’ve always got my back.”

“Always.” She simpers, though he can glean the affection from the statement where others may not.

\-----

[ _Friday Night_ ]

“Did you at least kiss him?” Lydia asks after he's filled her in on the afternoon's events.

“What?!” Stiles almost yells. He glances into the hall, making sure that his dad isn’t lurking in the corridor outside his room. “No,” he says quieter, twisting his fingers into his bedspread, “I didn’t _kiss_ _him_.”

Lydia gives an exasperated sound. “Well why the fuck not? You said that you actually spoke, right, and had a good time? You should ask him on a date. Give him the fucking ring already.”

“It’s not that easy.” He complains, rubbing his eyes.

“Why not?” Her tone is harsh, annoyed.

“I’m sorry, okay? I know you get tired of me talking about him but I actually wanna get to know him. He’s so fucking… _cool_.” He sighs at her sharp laughter. “I know how lame I sound, okay?”

“Just fucking do it, Stiles.” He can hear her typing something on her computer. “You’ve got detention again tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” A whole fucking Saturday, wasted on doing whatever the fuck that shit-stain of a human being Harris decides is worthy of his time.

“Well,” she says, sounding like the cat that got the cream, “so does Derek.”

He laughs. “I would be concerned as to how you know that,” he says airily, “but I’m enjoying the benefits of your delinquency, so I’m going to just say thank you.”

“I accept your praise and your gratitude.” She responds in her most regal of tones.

“You’re a queen and you know it, Lyds.”

She sounds icy and pleased. “Goddamn right. I’ll pick you up at five thirty tomorrow.”

She’ll pick him up because his jeep is in the shop getting new tires and also because she’s maybe the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him. No, definitely _for sure_ the greatest. “Love you.”

Her tone is warmer when she says softly, “Love you too. G’night.”

“Night, gorgeous.”

\-----

[ _Saturday Afternoon_ ]

“Hmm…” Lydia coos as Stiles slides into her car. “And what, pray tell, was _that_ all about?”

He kisses her upturned cheek, barely able to keep the stupid smile off his face. “He took the ring.”

She shoots a look at Derek Hale, his confusion and slight fear of her evident. She winks one eye at him, delighting in his frown. “Well, seems like you got your shit together.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I just took some advice from a beautiful woman.” He shoots her a wink. “I’ve heard that all the great men throughout history have always made good decisions based off what their female companions have advised them to do.”

“Fucking right.” She agrees, backing out of the parking spot and zooming out of the lot. “Curly fries?” She asks, though she already knows the answer.

“God _yes,_ marry me already, Lydia!” Stiles moans, throwing his head back and revealing several hickeys that will have the Sheriff’s eyebrows shooting into his hairline.

“Not in a million years.” She shoots back.

“You always say that.” He scoffs fondly, shaking his head.

“And it’s always true.”

\-----

Derek knew that it wouldn’t be as simple as just coming in for dinner and eating in peace. He didn’t even entertain the idea of taking Stiles’ ring off and Cora is definitely part of the ‘everybody’ that he thought of when he had the fear of being noticed.

They’re not even settled at the table for thirty seconds, their sad family of three, when her eyes hone in on the band of twined gold on his finger as he passes her the plate of porkchops.

“What the _fuck_ is that?!” She almost screams, not taking the plate, just staring at his hand.

“Cordelia Marie!” Laura scolds, almost dropping her glass of soda. “Language!”

“God, sorry, Laur, but holy mother of pearl, what is _that ring_ doing on _your_ hand?!” Cora is almost vibrating.

He sighs, trying to get her to take the plate. “Someone gave it to me.”

“Someone?” She demands. “Or Stiles freaking Stilinski?!”

He shoots Laura a look, begging for her to step in, but his big sister looks as intrigued as Cora, just less crazy about it. He sighs again, heavy, and mutters, “Stiles gave it to me. Do you want the damn porkchops or not, Cora?”

“AHHHH!” She shrieks, throwing her arms into the air.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He barks, dropping the plate to the table and rubbing his ringing ear.

“OH MY GOD MY BROTHER IS DATING STILES STILINSKI!!!” Cora shouts, looking like she’s having some kind of religious experience. She pulls out her phone and starts poking at it madly.

“It’s not a big deal.” Derek insists, shaking his head. He starts cutting into his food and flicks his gaze up to Laura’s face as Cora continues to freak the hell out.

“So,” Laura murmurs, “is he nice? Heard a lot about him,” she shoots Cora a look, “but I’ve never met him myself.”

Derek shrugs, dropping his gaze to his food to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Yeah, I mean… sure. He’s nice or whatever.”

“That’s really good, Der.” Laura reaches over the table, her fingertips just brushing the snarling mess that is his hair after Stiles got ahold of it. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he whispers, trying to swallow corn past the lump in his throat.

“So what happened?” Cora demands, leaning into his space. “I didn’t even know you guys _knew_ each other. What the hell, Derek? You couldn’t have told me you were friends with him?” She looks a little hurt and, fucking a, that kills him a little.

He casts his eyes to the heavens, appeals to whomever or whatever Stiles was thanking when talking about his dick, and says, “We barely know each other, Cora. He asked and I said yes. End of story.”

She gives him a suspicious look, clearly not buying it, but he’s sure as fuck not gonna give his baby sister the details. “Hmmm. Well, _whatever_ happened, you’ve got a giant hickey right,” she presses her fingers to his neck in a sharp jab, “ _there_.”

He bats her hand away, trying to tamp down the ridiculous smile that’s threatening to overtake his face. “Don’t touch me.” He grumps.

\-----

[ _Friday_ ]

“Oh my god,” Cora wheezes, pacing through the foyer. “Stiles Stilinski is coming to our house.” She tugs on her ponytail. “Oh my god!”

“I will push you down the basement stairs if you bother him.” Derek informs her, just as nervous she is about Stiles coming to pick him up for their date.

Date. He’s got a fucking _date_ with _Stiles_ …

He’d been nervous as hell, that Monday morning, pulling into the school and expecting… well, he didn’t really know what to expect, but Stiles waiting for him when he got out of his car, pulling him into a sweet, slow kiss and linking their fingers together, walking into the school handfast and obvious enough that people didn’t even need to _see_ the ring… it wasn’t at all what he was expecting…

He can maybe see why Cora is flipping her shit.

“Don’t threaten your sister.” Laura admonishes from where she’s sprawled on the stairs.

Derek snorts, rolling his eyes. “Tonight, she’s _your_ sister.”

“Only if you take her tomorrow.” Laura rubs her forehead. “I’ve got to finish my thesis.”

“Fine.” He agrees.

“I really hate it when you talk about me like I’m not here.” Cora informs them, scowling as she plants her fists on her hips. “It’s like you guys don’t even see me as a person.”

The doorbell rings before either of them can reply and Cora shrieks again, a piercing high-pitched sound.

“This is why no one thinks you’re human.” Derek informs her, pushing past her and pulling the door open.

Stiles looks fucking amazing. His dark blue button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his tight jeans are perfect and make his trim body look positively stellar. He smiles, lopsided and a little nervous. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.” Derek breathes back, unsure what else to do now that Stiles is actually on his front porch, smiling at him like that.

“You must be Stiles.” Laura says, stepping up and pulling the door from Derek’s white-knuckled grip. “I’m Laura, Derek’s older sister. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Stiles says with his usual amount of charm. “My dad talks about you a lot. Says you’re gonna be one hell of a DA one day.”

Laura laughs, shaking her head a little, and Derek can tell that Stiles has already won her over. “That is if I can manage to get Whittemore ousted from his post.”

Stiles smirks. “Oh, I’m sure there’s lots you could do.” He gives her a wink and Derek recalls how ugly of a breakup Lydia and Jackson had, how Stiles was polite and kind but apparently had a dark, ruthless streak inside of him that made Derek’s toes curl.

“Oh, _you_ I like.” Laura informs him, wagging a finger at him. “Now,” she pulls Derek close in a one-armed hug before pushing him out the door, “you guys be safe. Derek, your curfew is eleven. Make good choices!” She gives him a shit-eating grin before slamming the door.

“You have a curfew?” Stiles asks as they go down the steps toward Stiles’ jeep.

“She’s just being a dork.” Derek scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Good,” Stiles says, slamming his door and starting the engine. He sends a look across the gearshift that has Derek’s whole body lighting up with anticipation. “Because I don’t know that I’ll be done with you by then.”

Dear god, Derek hopes not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love, you guys! 
> 
> And thanks to Keeta for making me feel fucking amazing!!! :D
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?! 
> 
> Was it stupid? Was it great? How was the kissing? How was the sex? Did everything make sense? Did I miss a typo or forget to tag something? Do you just need to scream at me?
> 
> Tell me!
> 
> ily babies, ily ily ily  
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


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